A coats, not hers
( a poetry that begins at the words I have stolen with permission from the master writer K.c.Klein)
A coat, not hers wraps the little body
Crouched it twists down the alley of slumber.
The girl sleeps on the night-bridge forever.
Spotless sun rises over her and stooped
To wipe out the last of the murky night
Out of a soul that should not be touched with
Slightest of the dimness it lives within,
The days in and days out. Ha, the measures
Men invent to bind slipping time and space!
She stirs and steps out of the tattered coat
And binds of time to reach for a life of us.